


Dear Diary

by Numberonephanboy



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Sad, Writer Dan Howell, smut mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numberonephanboy/pseuds/Numberonephanboy
Summary: Daniel Howell is a writer.But he is very different than any writer, I've ever seen.This is the telling of his life story through his own work.





	1. Eighteen

Daniel Howell is a writer. 

But he is very different than any writer, I've ever seen. 

This is the telling of his life story through his own work. 

One - The beginning

My therapist told me I should white down what I'm feeling because I have trouble opening up. Pretend that I'm writing to a close friend she told me. It seems ridiculous, but I have nothing better to do. 

Through out all my life, I feel like my soul is calling out. Not for help, but for someone to just listen. I have this aching sadness, this pain. I don't know how to convey this sense of loneliness that I feel. It consumes me. Like underneath my heart I have a swell of blue aching anguish. I wish that I could speak to someone. I wish that I had the guts to explain my inner pain. Because it hurts so much. I feel the need to apologize because you dear friend should not feel sad over me. I want you to feel happy, like a gallon of yellow paint. I've no clue who you are in this moment, but I know you deserve to feel safe and content. I want you to be happy. I am not happy. I like to feel joy, but that is not my choice.

I'm in a constant state of grief. It's so hard for me to put this into words because the more I try to explain the more I feel it making less and less sense. I want to destroy myself. To feel pain. I want to be lost in riddles to give you as many good feelings as you want. And I love being happy. Im in love with laughing. I'm happy about being happy, but I am not happy. And I cannot figure out why. I miss people, but when I let myself think about it and feel their loss, I don't actually care. 

I begin to wonder why. The why. It torments my head. WHY? I could show you how to sob. How to feel like your entire being is nothing, but pure sorrow. I have had such a deep connection with sadness that it has become apart of me. Like it's fused with my soul. I hate being alone. I hate being inside my head because I ask so many questions, but I don't have the answers because if I did then I wouldn't need the questions in the first place. 

God please do not be unhappy because you deserve to be yellow. I want you to be okay. I want you to be okay more than I want myself to not feel sad.

I'm sorry that I am so confusing. It's like shattering a glass. The sound of it braking apart. It's like people shoving promises down one another's throats. Even still I just want you to listen. Not feel sad. But listen. Listen because I don't know what to say, but believing that someone is listening truly listening, I feel less sad.

I have so many words. They're all stuck in my head because I'm lacking in vocabulary. I love you dear friend because you have made it this far. Please don't be thinking that I am not happy when I do in fact say I am. Because when I am happy, it fills me up to the brim. It makes me so full there is no room for grief. But when I am sad it's this great despair. I feel so distraught and alone. So alone. I'm begging you to be happy. Please be happy. I need you to be okay. I need you to be okay. I'm sorry that I sound so sad and unhappy, but it's just for right now because I block most of this out. If I didn't I don't think I could function. In fact I know that I can't. So when I'm normal and okay. I really am normal and okay because I'm not thinking about being sad. 

I'm thinking about how it's so amazing to be feeling this glorious feeling, if only for a little bit. I truly am in love with happiness. I'm really sorry that you have seen this. This is what happens when I open up. 

I'm sorry that I say I'm sorry so much. I just cant help it dear friend. I apologize because I don't want to be the cause of you pain. Or discomfort. Thank you dear friend for stick till the end. I hate to rhyme, but you need a little cheering up. So here is some blue paint in a yellow cup. The yellow cup is me. See it makes sense. The sad paint is covered and protected by thick yellow walls.

\---

I remember this day. I discovered the marks on his arms. 

 

Two - New guy

It's been a couple weeks. I met someone. He's kind and gentle, but I'm too broken. Today he discovered my secret. He'll leave eventually. Is it wrong that I want him to stay?

To steal something. Taking from someone else. Something that does not belong to you. What is taking something? I'll tell you. It's not yours. But you want it. It wasn't earned, but you feel like you've earned it. It's that fleeting feeling of adrenaline. The rush. Doing something you know is bad, but you do it anyway. Knowing it could end badly but it doesn't matter. You want it. More than you've wanted anything. So you take it. 

That wonderful leap of faith. Its like breathing again. Resurfacing. Its a sugar high, with no sugar. Its so fleeting. You do it again. You take and take and take. But you haven't been caught yet. Haven't found that person that says stop this isn't healthy. It's falling from the monkey bars as a child. It hurt. But you did it anyway. You can't listen it consumes you. Finally someone stops you. 

Right in your tracks caught red handed. Caught. That's what its been this whole time caught in a dream in a hazy. Caught up in a lie. God its lovely. So so lovely. All your secrets for someone to see. But you're begging them not to run to not be afraid of who you are and what you do. To love you because you've lost everyone else. They were too afraid. Too caught up in their own world to even try and understand. The whole world feels like blue paint slipping through your hands. It's climbing all the way up you lungs and screaming. 

God isn't it nice to finally tell someone. Isn't it nice to be told to stop. To look around and count the objects you have stolen. Count all of your mistakes. Count just how many people have made you feel like shit. But you stole from them. You took them for granted. Took their love but it wasn't enough, like the filthy thing you are. constant ache can't be put out with a dash of yellow paint. It needs more than that.

\---

I saw the bruises, but I never knew the truth. 

Three - boyfriend 

I've made some bad choices, but I think he loves me in his own way.

Cole is a sweet lover, his icy claws trail my entire body. Mapping it out. Chilling marks are left behind. He turns my skin blue. Soft caresses and touches. He surrounds me, keeps me in a box. In a cage. I can beg to move, my body stiff, but deep down I don't want to. I like feeling frozen, feeling like I can't escape. Cole is sweet. He loves me. He wants me all to himself. Wants to nestle in my heart. Strong and unmoving, but he only comes around every once in a while, and is easily spooked. I have stay pliant so as not to scare him. He is strong, but sweet. He'll leave me. Purple and Blue. He's sweet, but to much of him and he'll kill me. He sucks out all the air. Leaving it bitter and dry. Too much and I could die.

\---

Four - First

Not a single millisecond that's passed has been better than the first. The first time his voice reached my ears and the first time he muttered words to me. I did not and still do not find his face anything more than a inked out blur. Forgotten and unimportant. The first time I heard him reach the other side of the hill, his breathe. The first swear, the first moan, the first ache. Not a single second could be compared to the first. It's etched into memory, but I can't remember a single thing. 

Craving for the first and craving for the daily reminders. He doesn't stay long and that is also just like the first. First of doubt and fear. It's exhilarating that first time and a chanted name, though he does not know my own. That is a symbol for the first of truth. The truth that one does not care about the many firsts and he does not care at all. He gets what he wants and he takes it away.

He wants what I can give not what I am craving for. He doesn't want me he wants what's his. An ocean of firsts and yet this one isn't new. The fear, the anger, the sadness, the disappointment, the... First. Questions by the thousands arise, but these are all second hand. He'll ask for another first and I'll give it to him. Like the minuscule pathetic giver that I am. I can't see that he doesn't care. 

What's important is that these firsts are now his and like a dragon with his treasure, he won't let go so easily, but I can't mistake this for want of myself. What he wants is what I can give and when I can give no more... He will want no more. This is advice. Do not follow the first. Yes the millisecond was sporadic and energizing, but nothing will be like the first.

\---

His mother was never a kind woman. 

Five - mother

I used to be addicted to writing on my wrists and hands. I wanted people to see what was trapped on the inside. Now I keep it hidden. I want to keep myself. I'm too terrified to show who I am. I did once. Fell head over heels. God was I an addict. And he knew it too. Told me once I had a form of an addictive personality. God was he right. My dad told me I'm like my mother. What a coincidence that shes an addict.

She's addicted to drugs. The good stuff. She's so addicted she forgot who she was. Forgot she had children, forgot she was human. She'd say things that she believed she was supposed to say. 'I miss my kids. I miss not being addicted. I miss living.'

Lies. All of it was a lie. She doesn't feel any of that. Down to her core she knows she doesn't believe that. Not that she would ever admit it because admitting it would mean she's a shit person. Now I'm addicted to words. Pretending to be a poet. Pretending I sound okay.

\---

I was thankful for the day that you two broke up. 

Six - Miss you

It's freezing outside cold and windy. People keep telling me that Cole is no good for me, but I want to shout, 'You fools, Cole may be bitter sweet, but he loves me with his whole heart.' I'm hesitant to believe Cole can hear me. But I'm getting colder and becoming more stiff. Cole is sucking the warmth out of me and all I can think is how alone I'm going to be now. I'm reminded of how much I miss him. How much he makes me feel alive. There's a pain in my fingers, a dull ache, but I want nothing more than for it to consume me. I told you Cole was a sweet lover. He make me want to be frozen.

\---

He always did love my drawing. 

Seven - artist

The new guy continues to sit with me. He's still kind, still gentle. I just wish I had the guts to know him better. 

There's a whole god damn world on the inside of his notebook and I'd kill for a peek. It's a place only he understands through his drawing and words. In his mind he knows every single one of their stories. A mock imitation of God. Created them and knows their pain. The hardest part is connecting the dots. My eyes cannot see the first few lines. I cannot see where the drawing began. But he can. He knows what sparked every one of them. I look at the drawing and see pretty pictures, he looks at them and sees a world. I don't know how to show you the feelings and the words. Can't you see it? He really did create a world with his mind. He sought inspiration and used it. The pencil was his and the ideas just as such. God all I'm wishing for is a walk through. A tour of his thoughts and feelings. Haven't you ever wonder what the inside of an artist mind looks like? Not what makes them crazy, No, but what makes them think. How can I show you that what I say is true. It's so very important, yet nothing at all. There is an entire notebook with a world in it. And only one person can understand it.

\---

He didn't know just how in love with him I was. I thought he was the most beautiful person I'd ever met. 

Eight - thoughts

I keep thinking that maybe I can share my mind with him. That if people are allowed to share their thoughts and feelings, then so should I. But what if you think I'm laughable, that I'm nothing more than a freak. Like I couldn't string a line of thoughts together even if I tried. 

\---

Nine - A boy

He's so kind. So much better than Cole. 

A boy like you should be prettily made to laugh at the wonder of the world. A boy like you should feel the deepest of joy because without boy's like you, boys like me could only write about just how tragic it is to feel alive.

\---

I'm so glad you did. 

Ten - Leap of faith

I've decide to finally let myself do something that I want for a change. 

I want to touch you and hold you and love you with my whole being. I want to feel your warm skin against mine. I love that you don't flinch at my scars. My marks don't bother you. You said 'It's just another part of you to love' and I cried for joy. For the fullness in my heart. I want to hold your hand, your soft palm in mine. I want to treat you like your the most important thing in the world because you are. I love you with my whole heart. I want to lay my head on your stomach, so that my head moves as you breathe. God I love you. I want to see your messy hair in the morning and run my hands through it. You're warm and soft and pure. I think I'd stay with you forever if I could. Just you, me, and a world of our own. I want to hear you. That laugh. The one where you can't stop, it pulls from your chest and spills out like the purest joy. And when you moan, I can't think straight. My brain goes haywire and the only thing I want is to make you do it again. It's soft and breathy, but it's so damn perfect. I want all your flaws. Your quirky music taste that no one seems to understand, not even me. I want any little scars or marks that you may have. I just want you. I first saw you and I didn't think i'd need a second glance, but I am so glad you spoke to me. Pulled me out of my shell and into your arms. I want to hold you. Wrap my arms around you waist and never let go. But I need you to hold me back. Tangle our legs together and pull me close. Please, just hold me. Keep me in your heart. I want to love you as much as you love me and dear god do I hope you love me too. My heart is so full of love for you and my brain can't think of a better subject. I want to make love to you, hold you down against the sheet. Imprint yourself in my skin, leave your mark on me so I never forget. I am truly yours. I love you with my entire heart, but most of all I want you to love me back.

End part one


	2. Twenty one

I love you too. 

One - mornings

I love you Philip Lester.

Mornings in bed with you are the mornings that that I don't feel like I could die without a second thought. It's filtered sunlight, even on a rainy day. All warm and tangled up. 

I love just feeling your skin on mine. My fingers graze the dimples in your back and slight bump of your stomach. You stir lightly, like you always do. I brush the hair off your forehead. That's one of my favorite things. Running my hands through your soft hair. Really just you are my favorite thing. I've never loved someone this much. 

This raw emotion, it liberating I feel so free. Mornings with you I feel like it's okay to be a little messed up. It's okay that I sometimes can't tell the difference between a paint brush and a broken heart. It's like a whole other world. It's so calm and peaceful. I don't worry whether you love me or not. I know you do. I see it in your sleepy smile and your quiet chuckle. My dear, all I want is you. 

You make me feel alive in ways I never thought possible. Waking up with you is so exhilarating. I feel like me again. And I want to say thank you my love. For all mornings. Lazy morning, sad mornings, and for the mornings where we get too exited. Those might be my favorite types, soft and slow, but I know how much you love me in every touch. I want more, crave it. I only have one more thing and it's to ask, Will you spend your mornings with me forever? In a selfish way I never want to spend another sunrise without you by my side.

\---

Two - fall

You feel like fall to me. But to know what that means you have to know the sentiment of fall to me. It's everything that makes me happy, like yellow and calm and sun. And the leaves and the rough bark and it's the feeling of peace. It's quiet and windy. 

It's numb, but so much pure feeling. It's getting lost in the dark while the sky is crying. It's orange string tied around a metal branch that will be left behind long after. It's wrists with blank canvases and a coherent mind. It's pen scraping into to board, branding it.

The cold air is a snake, curling around toes and fingers. The warmth of crying and splashing the tears all inside your heart. The smiles are like yellow and windy days. The silence is always second and the calm is always first. It's watching a yellow and blue sunrise with you. And it's constant repetition and it's a new book with clear pages. It's wet and clinging. And It's fresh vibrant paint. And it's the love of my life. 

\---

We did marry eventually. 

Three - Marry me

The past couple years have been amazing, but I can't help that sometimes I still think it's too good to be true.

I'll make sure we have the good years. But it will probably end with me saying, "Please, baby, marry me?" because I have fallen in love with you, but I have also destroyed myself. I can't help it. It'll end with me falling off the wagon thinking I'm okay. And I will be okay for a while. I'll find you or you'll find I. And god it'll be gorgeous. 

I hope we find each other because I want to give myself to you for forever. But maybe I'm not supposed to feel that way yet. Not supposed to be in love with an idea. But it's better than dwelling on the past. Better than feeling like I'll never have these feelings. Like I won't have you to give everything to. It'll be me, scars and all. It'll end with me begging. 

I'm sorry if I've hurt you. I'm sorry that I've fallen and I'm sorry that I'm a mess. And I'll be sprawled on the kitchen floor, sobbing. I'll search my brain for why. Why are you leaving? Why have I destroyed the one good thing in my life? Why? I'll ask questions that I've forgotten the answers to. I'm writing the end because then I can work backwards. It's easy to write the end. It's the beginning that's so god-damned tragic. Tragic because it'll probably never happen. And I'll just be sitting on the floor sobbing anyway. I'll say, "Love, please don't go. I'm not stable, I'm a mess, but I need you more than I need a notebook to help me breathe. More than you need yellow paint." 

I'll give you all my memories. Remember how we fell in love? Remember when we walked through the streets? Remember when I saw snow for the first time in four years and I cried. I saw you in it. I see you in everything I do. My words of all my emotion. But the novelty of my mind and words has worn off. I don't seem poetic or pretty. I look bad. I sound like a horribly sick creature. But more gently now. Just sick. 

Stop being sad. Stop thinking the ugly things are beautiful because it isn't fascinating anymore. Clear your head and stop living in a daze. I can't stand the thought of you leaving. It scares me. I can imagine myself holding your face, I'd be crying. You'd stand there slightly shorter. A bag on the floor next to you. I hope we'll be standing in the doorway of the kitchen. You'll tell me that you're leaving. That you can't do this anymore. Can't breathe. And I'll be there with a soaked face. "No sunshine, I need you. You can't leave." How am I to beg, when I have nothing to offer, but a washed up wannabe? I can't. And that's why you leave. That's why I grieve. Because before I even start to pray you love me, I know that you're gone. Already it's over and that's why I sob so much. But that doesn't matter because I need you. Right in front of me and I miss you. So I ask again, "Marry me, please, my love, marry me?"

\---

He was the love of my life. 

Four - you

All my writing is about you these days. You make me feel so alive and happy. 

I can't describe the way you make me feel my love. It's pure and golden and warm like a spring day. My heart feels so full. God, I just want to hold you. To run my fingers through your hair. You have my entire heart. 

I spend my nights thinking about your voice and your touch. You're my first and last thought before I wake and before I sleep. I hope you feel as beautiful and I do, it's so exhilarating. Darling, I want to touch the freckles on your cheeks, to brush away your tears of joy. I hope you feel as strongly as I do because I don't want anyone else, but you. You make me forget how broken I am. Make me forget about my scars and how sad i am. 

I feel like myself around you. I'm not sad, I'm bright yellow and happy. My heart is so full of love for you. I've never felt this way before my dear and I'm so god damn lucky to even get the chance to be with you. 

\---

I wish I had done better to help you. I had no idea these thoughts were in your head. 

Five - bad day 

You asked me to marry you and I should have been crying out of joy, but I was so sad. 

My love, look at me. My eyes are heavy and my nose is runny. Tears spill time and time again, soiling it. You want me to smile, to laugh. Breathe love, exhale and in. Don't think about the bad, don't think about the good, don't think. Don't attach yourself to me. Please don't get too close, don't love me. 

I'm a monster, a sick mess and I ruin everything that I touch. Sweet one, with your cotton candy and kindness. Don't let me love you too, I can't handle it. I'm sad and selfish and I need the attachment, I need the growth, I need the closure. It's hard to revel in the happiness, hard to gloat because I don't deserve it. Monsters do not get to be happy. But god do I want it. 

I want to see me the way you do. Unwavering bliss. To not flinch at my scars, to not look at myself and not feel like cutting all the strings attached to my heart. Paint and write until you can't, until it's all used up, until you're dry and washed up and you don't sound poetic, you sound like a wannabe. A joke. A distraught mess of a human being. Love, stay, because I'm selfish. Because I want to write about the beauty in your eyes and feel safe. Because the second I'm alone again I return to the beast that I am. 

\---

Six - drunken

Baby let's drink wine together. I want to be tipsy and in love. My fingertips could ghost across your cheek. Look at you all warm and light and full of ecstasy. My love I could never get enough. Let's fall off the edge together. I can't remember what your heartbeat sounds like. I want long car rides in the middle of the night. I'd fight for you and win every time. And a place where I love you and you love I. It could be 6 a.m. wrapped in the sheets, pulling you closer, because I never want to let you go. You've left an imprint in my heart. Lovely, that's what you are. Absolutely lovely. I'll run my hands through your hair. You're light and airy. Let's fall asleep tangled in each other, until the sun comes up. Until you no longer love me. Let's just drink and fall into this motionless state of joy.


End file.
